


PEAKY LIGHTERS.

by roseredwritings



Category: Gone Series - Michael Grant, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27685757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseredwritings/pseuds/roseredwritings
Summary: SOME LIKE TO BELIEVE THAT THERE IS SUCH A THING AS LIGHT AND DARK.The whispers of a so-called thing named ‘The Darkness’ that had persevered for the longest while were of no aid, with these whispers turning into a legend emblazoned in blood, branded across the streets of Birmingham in a following of tainted belief.Some liked to assume then, that if there was always light to match and battle darkness, then the rival gang to that of those who leaned into the thoughts of the Darkness would be humans with light in their hearts.But is life ever so sweetly simple? Can those who people yearn to be full of light ever be, when their pocket gold is lined with cons, their alleyways paved with blood and bruises?Essentially: Hear me out, the characters and elements of the GONE storyline but in a world like that of Peaky Blinders and the storylines within that. Please be aware that both the series' hold violent content within, and whilst I prefer to not write graphic depictions of violence, there will likely be mentions of it within.Thanks and credit to @its_me_maya_w who wrote the thread on Dark!Gone characters that proved a spark of inspiration for this.
Relationships: you know just a lot of the gone canon things? find them here
Kudos: 2





	PEAKY LIGHTERS.

SOME LIKE TO BELIEVE THAT THERE IS SUCH A THING AS LIGHT AND DARK.

The whispers of a so-called thing named ‘The Darkness’ that had persevered for the longest while were of no aid, with these whispers turning into a legend emblazoned in blood, branded across the streets of Birmingham in a following of tainted belief.

Some liked to assume then, that if there was always light to match and battle darkness, then the rival gang to that of those who leaned into the thoughts of the Darkness would be humans with light in their hearts.

But is life ever so sweetly simple? Can those who people yearn to be full of light ever be, when their pocket gold is lined with cons, their alleyways paved with blood and bruises?

CHAPTER ONE ; RED LIGHT HAND.

_‘You, my son, are inheriting an empire of your own making’._

The words of Connie Temple echoed aching in the mind of Sam Temple as he wrestled with his bedsheets in the early hours of the day. The words of his mother normally proved a joy to him, and yet, since she had left him, she seemed to linger in his mind as a green-tinged monster of words. They had grown up alone, just the two of them for the most part, so their bond had been forced ever-closer. She had always been his comfort, and he, the man of the house. Still, she had set off for the safety of America, leaving him behind, with such weights upon him. He had never asked to be the man of the house as a little boy. He had never asked for the empire he now had a death grip upon.  
Faint indistinguishable moans of struggle-lost sleep breathed out from him as he contemplated those parting words she left him with. Oh, there had been others of a loving nature that settled kinder on his stomach, but those were the ones that pained him the truest. An empire of his own making. The Peaky Lighters had not entirely been of his own invention, for there had been family roots and stakes in the matter from when he was growing up...but in a way, she was correct. He had, without realising at the time, revitalised the empire that thrived within the meaner streets of Birmingham. Young blood, they had called it at first. The reluctant hero, standing up to forge them ahead. It had all started with an incident in his youth, his first gunshot, one shot to save many. It had slowly grown into the present. They were so-named Peaky Lighters for their use of fire ( and their occasional blinding nature, razor-blades hidden in their caps ), but he had given it a new meaning. He had lit them up, blazed them into their current state of being.  
An accidental stumble of a saviour-move that, amongst other things, plagued him still. Sweating, he forced himself to sit up, back resting against the greying whites of his pillow, dragging his sheets along in tow. Sam wished that he could be permitted anger, to speak it out in calloused words, just as he felt it inside. People never seemed to receive them so well, though. Some thought he had to be a pristine image of tough; for once he wanted to be weak. To be Sam Temple, a man hewn out of a softer mould. For a while, in his younger days, he had played at the seaside. You could build an empire of castles on the sand...and just let the sea wash them away without consequence. He wanted to go back to those heydays. To let the sea wash over him.  
The sun was cracking through the curtains, though. He was not yet free.

The office was always a pit of uncertainty and chaos. One in which he liked to believe he could trust those around him, believing he naturally drew people into trusting him through his...as affable nature as one could find in their business. Still, he never knew what was lurking around the corner, and certain talk had left him with a lack of ease as of late. Rumours were spreading of a new group on the streets, of a somewhat more expensive nature than his own, and it left him unsettled. For starters, Small Heath, and their area of the city, it belonged to those who were of those streets. It dealt with things in a hand-to-hand nature, rather than fancy footwork. The Peaky Lighters did not need the rumoured pretenders to converge on their territory, nor did they need the levels of violence and strife it could bring with it. They had built up a steady- and cunning- business with their work as bookies. He wanted that stability to reign longer.  
‘Sam! Hey man, I’ve been meaning to speak to you. It's...kinda important, s’alright if we talk now?’ A wave of a voice crashed into the thoughts of Sam, interrupting his musings. Turning behind, he saw the owner of it. Quinn Gaither. They’d known each other a while, and the time his brain shattered upon thinking on had only enforced their bond further. Brothers, they saw each other as. He loved the man like one in lieu of any others.  
‘Yeah, always got time for you. Though, personal, or business? We can always go to The Garrison to speak it over on a break if the first.’ Putting on a broader smile, Sam pushed back some of his hair in thought as he offered, trying to seem in good enough spirits.  
‘Business. Look, you know I got your back. Always. Especially in the bookie sides, even if it isn’t that honest work. But I’m getting worried over here. You hear the whispers. I don’t...I don’t want to be caught up in another sort of war’.  
The features of Sam tightened with a heartache, caught between being a leader and being a friend. The memories swallowed him up inside also, but he knew that Quinn also had his vulnerable weaker spots. He would often try to hide them, but they called out still. He remembered the story that Quinn had told him in fearful stifles of emotion during their initial days of fear in the trenches. His last day home before they headed away merry-footed to the war built on a basis of lies, he had fought with his father. It was those times that he saw the truth of Quinn. Some might call his nature cowardly; At times, it was just fear. He couldn’t just...promise, though. Promise Quinn that nothing would come from the rumours, at least on their behalf. Face falling, he looked at Quinn soft. ‘Hey now. You know I can’t bend for every ask like that...we gotta do what we gotta do, even if I don’t like it. If they come for us, we can’t sit still. You don’t have to be part of us. I like having you on my team but...yeah’.  
‘C’mon, you can’t even consider the words of a friend...of a brother?’ Quinn turned tense, bristling up at the response given.  
‘Don’t put me in this position, you know what’s at stake. Grab a drink with me later, we’ll talk it through with any updates. Albert might be in, you know he sticks around his establishment. For the right price, he may have information’.  
‘Fine. If needs must...see you then. By the way, Edilio was wanting to speak to you about a new hire, or something. Said he wanted to consult you directly.’ A shrug of his shoulders, Quinn sighed, casual and light demeanor becoming replaced with a tenseness.

‘If it isn’t my right-hand man,’ Sam breathed out with a lightness, comfortable in the grounding presence of Edilio.  
‘Who also happens to be a man with a red right hand’. Raising his brows, Edilio briefly commented. There was a distinguishable warmness to him, but he came with that lethal edge in his boldness to fight.  
‘So we all have. Anyways, I heard you needed to speak to me- isn’t everyday you handle this side of things, though.’.  
‘Sam, you know me. I’ll do a lot that needs doing outside my official duty. This hire though, should go through you, that’s why I’m handling it. Claims to know you, she does’. Edilio smirked, seeing the face of Sam cloud over with pinked cheeks and confusion.  
‘A she? Who- what’s her name?’.  
‘Astrid, she told me. Astrid Ellison. She seems smart. Little demanding and self-righteous. But smart.’ Lips upturning, he reclined to lean against the wall, awaiting an answer.  
The name was not an unfamiliar one to Sam. A thought of blonde seemed to waft over his mind, remembering white shirts and a beautiful mind, a girl he would always glance at from afar. There was a safety in the thought of Astrid Ellison. She was the comfortable embrace of younger years.  
‘The genius…’ Sam managed to speak after a gulping pause, catching his breath as he did so, avoiding the intrigued glare from Edilio. ‘Astrid, yeah, I know her….she around now?’.  
‘She is. Just, be careful. We don’t need any...past...the two of you have slipped into your work’.  
‘We- no- we don’t have a past. One-sided attraction on my behalf, if anything. Once upon a time. Besides, you’re one to talk’.  
‘I see you’re getting some nerve. Come on then, let’s go quick, I’ve got other stuff to get to,’ His finger traced across his cap for a brief moment.

‘You’ve heard the phrasing relating to killing with kindness, I do hope.’ Caine Soren, softly authoritative in his smooth tone, leaned back against his chair, one hand stroking across the desk prominent in front of him.  
‘Strangely enough, I have. Despite the fact I reside with some of the cruelest monsters there is.’ Diana twisted her smile into one of a condescending manner, half-bored as she responded.  
‘If you mean Drake, you know he’s essential to our gang. A somewhat...firm touch, shall we say, is sometimes needed’. Caine gave back, tiring of the constant back-and-forth relating to Drake that so often came up in conversation also.  
‘There’s far more who would prove a better fit. But I do mean you also. We all know what you’re like. It’s inescapable...literally, for some’. She teased with an edging undertone of truth.  
‘Once more, a needed thing...and you know I’d never be cruel to you.’ His sharp eyes overtaken with a softness almost, there was often that pleading sensation that came up whenever he spoke to the girl in front of him. His weakness.  
Gritting her teeth, it was the weakness of Caine that was both a gain and a nuisance to Diana- she needed him for his strength and gain, yet he often seemed lacking in that whenever around her. ‘So you say. Though I wonder if whatever the purpose you called me in here for today will disprove that.’  
‘You should be grateful, if anything. I’ve an opportunity for you.’  
‘I dread to hear it. Go on, then.’  
‘Killing with kindness. It can be a subversive act, kindness. That’s how we’ll make our first marks...make them like us. Charm them. And gain power that way before turning to any of our more typical natures.’ His lips upturning, Caine showed cruel pride across his features, awaiting the response of Diana.  
‘If anyone could do it, I must admit, you could. Where do I come in?’ She nodded along with his words, considering it and her own advantages from the situation.  
‘You’re going to overstep into the territory of others. I heard that The Garrison pub is looking for a new barmaid, and there’s lots of talk in that place. You would be a remarkable asset there’.  
Face scowling, she tried to placate it as to keep the upper hand in the conversation, moving nearer to where Caine sat. ‘Don’t you think I could do better in the public face back here with you? Rather than emptying buckets there? Won’t you miss me by your side?’.  
Tensing, he bit against his lip. ‘No, Diana. You’ve a way of gaining information and rooting your way in. You seem to easily learn a fair deal about people. You’re best suited there. It’s an honour, trust me.’  
‘Did Drake suggest this? Rare moment of cleverness from him if he did. So he can be left alone to worm his way further into your ear. Vile creature.’  
‘Believe it or not, I have a capability to make my own intelligent choices. You’re going. And whilst you’re gone, we’ll start also to foray forward.’  
Composing herself, Diana put on a falsified smile, breath tight as she looked at him. ‘If needs must, then.’

Astrid Ellison rested in the office she was told to wait in, the familiar warmth of coldness that was a quintessential feature of her present and waiting. She disliked the idea of waiting, of being hired by someone she had grown up with - it made her feel inferior, when she had a natural need to grasp control. But needs must. Times had been hard for most, and the recommendation of applying for a position within the Peaky Lighters, a name etched into memory for many around the area, had been too tempting to refuse at least looking at. There was no harm in sniffing around it. Besides, the startling revelation of who happened to be up top there had undeniably been an attractive feature for her.  
Looking up as the door opened, her hues fixated on the figure entering. There he was, clear as day, though older and more worn than she last remembered knowing him as being. Acknowledging him with a tip of her head, she stepped forward, waiting for him to follow suit.  
He stood struck at the figure in front of him; part of him could hear the whistle of the sea and the smell of its salt illuminating the golden figure of Astrid now in front of him. A flicker of a smile bruised across him as he moved to meet her. ‘Astrid’. He spoke, allowing her name to settle on his tongue once more. ‘It’s you.’  
‘Yes, Sam Temple...it’s me. It’s been a while, I must say. You’ve done well for yourself, in one sort of way’.  
‘Don’t act so disapproving, when you’re the one after a position. What happened to Astrid the Genius?’ He joked back, elated, unsure.  
Her face darkened at his words, taking a breath. ‘Intelligent girls seemed to have had their heyday during the war. Now we’re spare parts. I heard the Lighters appreciate intelligent girls, though- and you know I have some issues with that nickname’.  
‘None of us had a good go of it, did we? The war, that is. There’s a lot of us here who’ve felt the same, though we’ve fallen back into some security with the gang and the business.’.  
‘It still leaves its scars. I’m...I’m sorry’. She tried to sympathise, looking deep towards him.  
‘Thanks...but yeah, I think we’d do well with you here. Brains and the cunning, You’re perfect.’  
‘You’re kind, Sam. When do I get started, then?’  
‘Take today to do whatever you need to do...get someone to give you a tour, show you the ropes. Then join us properly tomorrow’.  
‘Join me for a drink, later tonight? Old friends. I’ve heard good remarks as to The Garrison’.


End file.
